


Infection

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gunshot Wounds, Infection, Injury, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being captured by Russia on the eastern battlefields of World Word Two, Prussia impatiently waits in a train cart to be treated for a gunshot wound that had been inflicted upon him right before his capture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infection

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from Hetalia Kink Meme

It had been two days since he had been yanked off of the battlefield and thrown into this empty train cart. It had also been two days since he had been shot in the shoulder – and a week since he had seen any sort of medic or doctor. The snowy haired nation of Prussia was leaning against the wall, gritting his teeth and glaring at the door leading out of it; obviously locked. He was still using his still-functioning arm to grip his useless one, trying to ignore the throbbing waves of pain. _Damn him_ , he thought to himself. _Damn that Russian bastard straight to hell._ The nerve that the man had, throwing him in here so unceremoniously after shooting him from behind like the cowardly, sneaky bastard that he was. He winced as the cart jostled on the tracks as it moved along, jarring his shoulder and earning a grunt of pain on his behalf. It stung like hell, and needed to be treated. He was too afraid to take off his jacket to check to see if it was infected or not – but judging by the way he couldn't even use his arm anymore, it probably was. 

Prussia tipped his head back and smacked it against the wall behind him. The moment he saw Russia he would kick his ass. The indignanty of it all, being captured so damn easily and taken as a prisoner... He glanced around at the quarters for probably the tenth time; it was more like a cleared out passenger car than a cattle car, such as the ones that they had used to transport their own soldiers. Not that he would know what that was like, of course, due to having the luxury of traveling with the higher commanding officers. Being the nation that they were fighting for tended to have its perks. He scoffed silently at that thought. Some nation he was, getting caught at the very end of the war. Who knew where Russia would bring him now? Considering what he had done to his people, he expected nothing less but gruesome torture before being brought in front of the other Allied countries as a prisoner. But West would easily beat all of them. So what if the tides were turned against them? They still had Japan, even if Italy was forced to surrender a week or so ago. They were the mighty kingdom of Prussia and Germany! They'd prevail and dominate the entire continent, and then, soon after that, the world! 

He was brought out of his thoughts abruptly by a stab of pain coming from his shoulder once more. “Screw it,” he mumbled in response to his own pride, and then began to tug at the left side of his jacket, intending on checking his wound to see just how bad it was. The only good thing about being a nation in this situation was the fact that an infection would settle in slower. But if it was left untreated, he'd be left hindered and as useless as a crippled old man. He pulled away the dark navy fabric, only to be started to see how much blood and pus had soaked through the whiteness of his shirt. That wasn't a good sign. With one hand, he unbuttoned his shirt and then peeled that away as well, wincing as the cloth stuck to his skin and pulled at the ragged edges of the bullet wound. 

Sure enough, the entire area around the bloody hole was an angry red, and it still oozed pus and blood, but rather lazily. Prussia stared at it for several moments, and then shut his eyes as he shouted, “Gottverdammt!” Why the hell hadn't the crazed Russian bastard treated his wounds? He'd lose his arm at this rate! Thoughts of being held down and forced to amputate his dominant arm got him to shudder. Angrily, his other arm jerked back and slammed the side of his fist into the wall, rattling the cart a little from the force. “ _Russland!_ ” He snapped, turning his attention back to the door and narrowing his ruby eyes out of agitation. “ _Russland_ , I know you're out there!” That bastard was probably watching him somehow and getting a good laugh out of his expense. Well, he wasn't about to sit here and be some cheap sort of entertainment! 

As if on cue, the door to the train cart slid open. The cold air of winter blew into the room and quickly whisked away all the warmth, getting the Prussian country to flinch and attempt to draw his clothes closed in order to conserve heat. But no sooner was the door opened was it shut by Russia, who stepped into the car and proceeded to brush a bit of snow dusting off of his broad shoulders. He wore that usual smile of his, the barest upward curves of his lips, and that ragged scarf had yet to be replaced – or removed – from around his neck. A moment after the last of the snow was brushed away, he brought his lavender stare over to his prisoner. Something in those violet depths gleamed, and he greeted, “Привет, Пруссия!” The tone was cheerful, almost friendly – but both of them knew that he always sounded like that. The taller country walked over to Prussia, meeting his glare with a smile as he then crouched down in front of him and tipped the rim of his commanding officer hat up slightly, to get a better look at him. “Ah, you do not look so well! Is it your shoulder?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ufu, I knew that it was your shoulder.” Russia was unperturbed by the hostility practically rolling off of the albino in front of him. His gaze shifted from his face to the other's shoulder – and feigned surprise at seeing the extent of the injury. “Oh, it looks very painful, да?” Indeed, the infection looked rather nasty. It wouldn't be long before a fever would set in! 

Curling his working hand into a fist, Prussia scowled at his captor for a moment or two before looking away. “ _Ja_ , it hurts like hell.” He had to admit to that. Denying it would only amuse the Russian; besides, he was scarily good at telling when others were lying to him. Swallowing some of his pride, he then started to say, “I need a doctor to treat it—”

“Нет.”

Prussia whipped his head back towards the country in front of him to glare incredulously. “ _Was?!_ ” What did he mean by so bluntly refusing to get him a doctor? Was he trying to get him killed or something! To let him slowly die from an infection from a bullet wound that he had caused... Yeah, the albino could see Russia doing something malicious like that. 

The other simply continued to smile as he gazed at him. “I said, 'нет', my little snow bunny.” He chuckled when Prussia cringed from the endearment. “You have been very naughty, haven't you? You have done so many bad things to my people...” A dark intent suddenly twisted itself into those lavender orbs. “My dear children – you have hurt them badly.” He leaned forward, smiling slightly wider as a menacing aura began to swirl around the two. “I have half a mind to snap your neck and drag your body behind the train.” 

Fear flickered in Prussia's eyes, and he stiffened, trying to mask the unease that he felt by letting a defiant glare continue to be shot at the nation trying to intimidate him. He wouldn't take that threat lightly, though; while it was immensely hard to kill a nation, it was rather easy to torture them for the sole reason that they wouldn't die from it. So being dragged behind a train wouldn't kill him. It would only be excruciatingly painful. “Then why don't you?” He choked out anyway, bravely, and narrowed his eyes at Russia with a wobbly smirk turning up his lips. 

A disappointed sigh left the Russian. “Because America and Britain want you alive.” It was clear how upset he was that he wouldn't be able to enact his revenge for the suffering that Prussia and his little brother had brought upon his people. Hopefully he would be able to save that for a later date. Pushing away his anger so that it wouldn't get the best of him, he once more brought a smile onto his face. “I do not hold everything against you, personally, however, my snow bunny,” he stated, as if those would be words of comfort, “I know that it was not you that had slaughtered my innocent people.” Russia reached out and touched the paler man's cheek – only to have the gesture rejected when the other jerked his head away. He simply smiled a tad more. “As a country, I find that you are despicable, untrustworthy, and appalling.” His fingers curled and managed to brush over Prussia's cheek before he once more moved away. “But as a man, you are charming. I hope that after you and your brother have been crushed by defeat, that we will be friends.” 

Prussia scoffed openly, still showing faint disgust at having been touched by the nation in front of him. “I hate to break it to you, _Russland_ , but you and I will never be friends. My bruder will rescue me, and then we will both pummel you into the dust with the awesome might of our combined kingdoms!” He should have done that a long time ago, when he was a Teutonic Knight and the intimidating man before him had only a measly population to call his own. No use regretting that now. He stole a glance down at his shoulder, reminded once more of how painful it was and gritting his teeth to suppress a grimace. “Now go get me a doctor before my arm falls off.”

“Нет, snow bunny,” Russia retorted without a second of hesitance. His eyes shut for a brief moment as he laughed without mirth. “Besides, even if I wanted to bring in a doctor, we do not have one on the train. He was... ah... unfortuantely blown to pieces by a grenade when we were attempting to retrieve you.” 

Dread gripped down on the Germanic nation's heart. Did that mean that he wouldn't be treated at all? But his arm! He needed that! “Th-then when the hell is this bullet wound that _YOU_ gave me going to be taken care of?!” Prussia was immensely bitter over that, but was now even more so knowing that the Russian wasn't even going to attempt to get him fixed up.

“You will see a doctor in three days,” Russia replied, that smile of his not changing. “When we reach Poland.”

All expression was immediately wiped off of the albino country's face. Wait a moment; they were heading towards Poland? They were going west, not east? That couldn't be right. He had thought that he was being brought back to Moscow to be tortured and interrogated for information. So why were they heading back? And wasn't most of Poland occupied by his troops? That was what he had heard last, but... “What do you mean by 'reach Poland'?” He asked, frowning at the Russian and narrowing his eyes. When he got no response for several moments, he snapped, his voice cracking with nerves, “Why the hell are we going west?!” 

He only got a chuckle. “I will see you in a few days, Пруссия,” Russia said to him as he pushed on his knees and stood up. He adjusted his scarf as he headed towards the door, ignoring how Prussia was shouting after him and even foolishly attempting to get onto his feet. Not until the train car's door was shut behind him and he was standing on the connecting joints between the carts in the icy wind did he sigh. That had been something. It would be quite a long wait, these next few days, for the both of him. But unlike Prussia, the lavender eyed man knew exactly what it meant by them heading westward. Another smile turned up his lips. Revenge would certainly be sweet.


End file.
